Acceptance
by Zellarest
Summary: Lysander has always supported his brother. But when Lorcan falls for the one and only Albums Potter, things become more complicated. / for the QLFC /incomplete/ bear with me please


Rays of dull sunshine pushed through the clouds and cloaked the environment of whispering trees and rolling hills that made up the grassy field. The sun sat on the edge of the horizon, half hidden in the elegant mess of colors splashed across the sky. The fluffy white clouds drifting across the vast sky like ships weren't the only remnants of yesterday. Puddles of rain were left from the showers of the day before, the ground a wet minefield.

Cross-legged in the tall grass, the sandy-haired boy admired every last bit of it. Like his mother, Lorcan enjoyed the little things in life that few realized were actually magnificent wonders of the world. The earth, the air, the sky, and everything beyond mesmerized him.

While fiddling with a few blades of grass in his hands, twisting them around and braiding them together, Lorcan noticed the soft whispering carried in the equally gentle wind. Trees waved back and forth in the distance as though saying hello. When the melody faltered, Lorcan picked it up in a slightly different tune.

At first it was slow and high-pitched like a funeral march, then long and low, mimicking the hollow sound of wind travelling through empty tree branches. Lorcan remembered the song his mother hummed while working in the garden.

A voice interrupted him, murmuring, "You're really good."

When Lorcan turned not sixty degrees to the left, he caught sight of the owner standing less than a few steps away. With wide eyes, the boy stared at Lorcan and wrung his fingers nervously like he wasn't supposed to be there. In short, he looked ready to bolt, but stayed loyally on a patch of bare ground as if something were keeping him there.

Lorcan stared right back at the startling green orbs. "Albus? I don't mean to be rude, but what are you doing out here?" Albus wasn't exactly dressed for the weather, or the environment; long plaid sleeves fell past his wrists and the heel of his shoe sat on the hem of the worn-looking jeans he wore.

With an faintly embarrassed smile Albus's gaze finally flickered away from Lorcan's. His voice came out slightly clearer than before. "Hi. Sorry for interrupting you, I just—" His eyes snapped back, wide with awe. "Where did you learn to whistle like that?"

He hadn't answered the question, but Lorcan supposed it was better than nothing.

A moment passed in which the only thing that could be heard was the songs of birds and whispering trees. A warm breeze floated by and ruffled threw their hair into their eyes. Lorcan brushed his aside— Albus didn't.

Lorcan gave an almost inaudible sigh in defeat. "My mum," he explained. "She's good at stuff like that. I could teach you, if you'd like."

There certainly wasn't a need for him to offer that, but an odd spark lit up in the other boy's eyes. With a shake of his head Lorcan decided it was worth it.

Albus's eyes light up with a certain spark of curiosity. With a faint smile playing at his lips, he digs the toe of his shoe into the dirt.

"Would you really?"

Albus dug the toe of his shoes into the dirt. A reluctant smile played at his lips. "You're serious? You'll teach me?" he asked warily.

With an almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corners of his lips, Lorcan gave a careful nod.

After a few moments plagued with uncertainty, Albus conceded and plopped down next to Lorcan. Their grass-stained knees touched. Albus flushed bright red but Lorcan minded little. What he did notice was the coldness of Albus's skin, like ice flowed through his very veins. Lorcan studied the skitterish way Albus laced his hands together in his lap, presumably to keep from wringing them, and his eyes flickered to several different things within a single moment.

After several moments, Albus asks, "So... erm, how do you whistle?"

Lorcan grinned in a way that resembled a cheeky chesire cat. "Well, first you close your lips as you're about to make the mating call of the elusive Nimblewobbles," he began in the way that his mother would. "Then, you just—" Lorcan paused at the confusion that was evident on the other boy's face. "Like you're about to mouth the fifteenth letter of the alphabet works too."

Albus nods quickly, brushing off the confusion after a few beats.

Not before a brief pause, Albus ticks every letter off on his fingers before arriving at what Lorcan believed should have been obvious— thet common vowel, 'o.' With scarlet cheeks and downward eyes he nodded to show his understanding.

Lorcan was forced to pull his lips into a line in order to refrain from laughing. Thankfully, he continued on in his instruction without a hitch. "Now just, breath as if you're about to blow bubbles."

Again, Albus fixes him with a confused stare. At his words, an unflattering pink had colored his cheeks while his shoulders dropped considerably from their usual position. Lorcan can tell he is lost like a moth in the dark. Lorcan sighs and counts to fifteen, just like his father taught him.

Albus fixed him with another confused stare. At Lorcan's words, an unflattering pink had stained the poor boy's cheeks. Without question, Lorcan knew that the fretful boy was lost like a moth in the dark.

"Didn't your parents teach you anything about Muggle inventions?" Lorcan muttered sourly.

"Or if you're putting out a candle," he says carefully.

The pink turns to a harsh, flaming scarlet as all the blood rushes to Albus's cheeks. "Right, right. Okay."

The first few attempts are half-hearted and weak. Once, all Albus manages to do is hit him with a few specks of saliva. He rushes to apologize and Lorcan just waves it off.

"Come on, Al. You're thirteen. You can blow out a candle, you can whistle."

"I can't!" he whines.

"You can. Trust me, just try again."

"I can't, Lorcan."

Lorcan takes hold of Albus's hand. Lorcan isn't surprised to discover it is cold, alarmingly so, and he knows it is fruitless, but he still runs his thumb across Albus's palm in an attempt to warm him.

"You listen to me. I know you can whistle. You just have to believe you can." When Albus looks down and sniffs, Lorcan leans down and looks up at him like his mother would whenever he became stubborn. "For me?"

A few beats pass before Albus mutters, "Fine."

"All right. Now, just do it just like I do," he tells him.

Softly, Lorcan whistles a lofty tune that his mother would sing while she worked at the garden. For a moment, he closes his eyes and gets lost in the tune and sickly sweet smell of the Dirigible Plums and almost forgets to stop. When Lorcan opens his eyes, Albus is staring at him with disbelief.

An awe-struck silence ensues, in which Albus fixes his emerald orbs on Lorcan and he becomes uncharacteristically flustered. It takes him a moment to recover before clearing his throat. The sound startles Albus slightly, which seems to pull him from his awed silence.

"Okay, now you try," Lorcan croaks.

Albus hesitates. His hold tightens on Lorcan's hand and the trees sing for several moments before he finally pulls his lips into an 'o' and... whistles. The sound is brief but sweet, while slightly off-kilter. Lorcan grins brightly.

"You did it!"

"I did it," Albus repeats as if he can't believe it himself.

Lorcan smiles. "You did..."


End file.
